


Holy Water Cannot Help You

by canistakahari



Series: vampire Jim [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Begging, Blood Drinking, Character Turned Into Vampire, Coercion, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is a vampire. McCoy still loves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Water Cannot Help You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingifere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingifere/gifts).



When McCoy opens his eyes, it’s to the dull throb of his pulse and the distinct sensation of being watched.   
  
“Jim,” he whispers in a voice like ash. He licks reflexively at his cracked lips, the inside of his mouth cottony-dry, and reaches out with trembling fingers across the rumpled sheets surrounding him.   
  
“Right here, Bones,” says Jim softly. The words come from everywhere at once. It feels like Jim is speaking inside his head.  
  
McCoy blinks sluggishly and the world tilts around him. A groan gets caught in his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut against the dizzying spin.  
  
“Jim,” he says again, sighing. Exhaustion and anxiety wraps him up in a blanket, curled around his heavy limbs and bone-weary body. “Where?”  
  
“Right here,” repeats Jim, and this time the bed dips with his weight and Jim’s face swims into view. “Don’t panic, okay?” He reaches out to stroke McCoy’s cheek and his fingertips feel cold, like he’s been out in the winter air without gloves on.   
  
“Hey,” mumbles McCoy, annoyed that his voice is slurring. He catches Jim’s hand clumsily. “Hey, you’re cold. What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing,” says Jim. “Nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect.”   
  
No. Jim is lying to him. Jim is  _lying_.   
  
“Something feels wrong,” murmurs McCoy, his voice hitching. “Something—Jim, what are you—”   
  
“Shhh,” soothes Jim, curling around McCoy and pinning him heavily to the mattress to stop his weak struggles. Jim’s body is cold all over, oh god. “Shhh, Bones, you’re okay. Everything is okay. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Sorry?”   
  
It doesn’t make sense, none of it makes  _any sense_. Jim is looking at him like he can see inside him, blue eyes luminous, and there’s a profound ache in McCoy’s body that he just can’t shake.   
  
And then, as Jim brushes his lips over McCoy’s throat in a barely-there kiss, he remembers.  
  
“Oh, god,” he whispers, tensing in Jim’s arms. “Oh, Jim, no. Please.”  
  
“You’re safe,” says Jim, peppering McCoy’s neck and jaw with kisses. “I just can’t get enough of you, Bones.”   
  
“Jim, please,” begs McCoy, clutching at him. His fear is muted, simmering just under his hot skin. “Please, stop this.”  
  
“Bones,” whispers Jim fervently. “Bones, Bones, Bones. I need you to give it to me. Please. Help me?”  
  
“Jim,” sobs McCoy. He remembers everything now, his heart breaking for everything that’s been lost, for who Jim was and who he is now. “Jim, no. Oh, darlin’, please don’t. Please don’t do this to me.”

Jim crushes their lips together and swallows his pleading, drinking it in like he drank McCoy’s blood. “I need you,” he murmurs, speaking into McCoy’s mouth, curling his fingers into his hair and stroking gently. “Bones, I need you. Gonna keep you with me forever. Keep you safe.”  
  
“Safe?” echoes McCoy. He can feel something like relief sweeping through him, but he can’t tell through the cotton in his head whether the feelings are his own or impressed on him by Jim. He can’t think, goddammit, he can’t  _think_ , not with Jim tickling at the back of his mind, a constant presence that can’t be ignored.   
  
“I would never  _make_  you feel something,” says Jim, offended.  
  
McCoy’s tongue is thick in his mouth. “But you know what I’m thinking.”  
  
“Yes. I can stop, if you want.”  
  
When McCoy thinks instead of Jim abandoning him, letting him go, of disappearing where McCoy can’t find him, the only thing in his heart is crushing loneliness. He doesn’t care if it’s manufactured. If this is Jim, if this is how things have to be, then McCoy still wants to be with him. “Not gonna leave me?”  
  
“No,” says Jim firmly. “Never. But I need your help, Bones, I need—”  
  
“Take it,” whispers McCoy. “Whatever you need, take it.”  
  
This time, McCoy willingly bares his throat to Jim.  
  
Tilts his head back, exposes the vulnerable flesh, whimpers as Jim inhales the thrum of his blood and scrapes his teeth over McCoy’s pulse. When Jim’s teeth sink into him for the second time, there’s no pain, just the pull of Jim’s mouth on his skin and the rush of his blood in his ears like the crash of waves on the shore. His cock fills, throbbing with every pump of blood from his heart to Jim’s mouth, Jim stealing his soul with each beat.  
  
“I’m going to take care of you,” murmurs Jim, wrapping McCoy in his arms, cradling his neck in his hand as he drinks leisurely.  
  
McCoy trembles in his arms. “And you’re going to stay with me?” he mumbles again, eyelids sliding shut.   
  
Jim licks the wounds closed and plants a tiny kiss there. “Always.”


End file.
